


Of Sackcloth and Onions

by Emaiyl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Arranged Marriage, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Food, Gift Fic, Humor, Jonerys Secret Santa 2018, Not Beta Read, Peace, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emaiyl/pseuds/Emaiyl
Summary: When Jon's broodiness becomes too much, Bran interferes.





	Of Sackcloth and Onions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CallMeDeWitt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeDeWitt/gifts).



> Written for CallMeDeWitt (callmedewitt on Tumblr) as part of the Jonerys Secret Santa 2018 event.
> 
> CallMeDeWitt requested “a night on the town that leads to ... fun.” He wanted to see a variety of characters interacting with each other, and he also mentioned that he liked Arthur and Ashara Dayne. It was a delightful discovery that his quirky sense of humour was a match for mine, so I could combine the elements he wanted with a touch of my own silliness.
> 
> This is an alternate universe in which almost everyone is still alive, and Jon and Dany meet in their late teens or early twenties. Their union is meant to ensure that peace endures. I made the assumption that gods, companion animals, and the dead can see all of space and time, as well as multiple universes. As such, they've adopted a more modern vernacular. This work exists entirely outside of canon, breaks the fourth wall, and is just generally a bit odd.

“We have a problem.” Bran's voice was soft in the moonlight passing through what, to human eyes, would've looked like a normal chamber. But this was no normal chamber. It was home to a secret meeting of the Old Gods and those who embodied their power, and those who had died in other versions of Westeros. Those who were close to Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen. Those who would do anything to see them happily wed.

If only Jon would stop being so bloody _dour._

Arthur was the first to speak. “You know, Bran,” he said, polishing his sword, “this _is_ an alternate universe. I could come back. Ashara, too. Maybe give Jon some swordplay lessons. That might brighten his mood.”

Bran would call them back if they were needed. For now, they were to watch over Jon and Dany. To be the guardians of their joy. Later, Bran would see them off on a trip to a galaxy they'd never seen. Who knows what kinds of swords they could make.

“He's not going to stop brooding, you know,” Ghost said. “I hear him. In my head.” If wolves could wince, Ghost did. “It's like there's a raincloud. In my brain. It makes things all _wet_ , and then I start to get _cold_ , and honestly, it's quite annoying.”

“Annoying! That's it! Ghost! You're a _genius_!”

In a graceful yet unnecessarily noisy motion, Rhaegal swept Ghost beneath his wing. Evidently, Ghost was used to Rhaegal expressing his feelings in such a way, for he emerged calmly from the resulting chaos, his fur having been rearranged into what modern fashion theorists might call a “punk rock” style.

Viserion blinked. “Annoying?”

Drogon flapped his wings excitedly. In an entirely unrelated weather event in another universe, a large tornado formed.

“Yes! Annoying! Look at Dany. She's so carefree. So lighthearted.”

“Well, that is to be expected,” Rhaella said dryly. “I did insist that she be given some _happiness_ in this universe. What better source of happiness than knowing she will be contributing to peace within a stable country, with no fear for her life?”

“The Starks are nothing if not stable,” Oberyn said. “A bit staid, perhaps. Stuck in their ways. Some may even say boring, but Daenerys is a Targaryen; she'd liven things up anywhere she went.”

“Which is why,” Bran said calmly, looking to Rhaegal, “we need to make her circumstances as annoying as possible.”

“Exactly,” Drogon said. “One of the best ways for Daenerys and Jon to bond is to get Jon to see that Dany can be just as frustrated as he can. Let him see that she feels the same things he does. And maybe he'll see that she feels other things for him, too. But we need to get her there.”

Rhaegal nodded. “She'll never reach Jon's level of crushing nihilism on her own.”

“I wouldn't call it crushing nihilism, exactly,” Ghost cut in.

“Agonising despair?” Viserion offered.

Rhaegal's tail swooshed in the dust of the cave. In yet another entirely unrelated weather event, several massive tidal waves crashed against the cliffs of another Earth.

“Terrible purposelessness?”

“He's lonely,” Drogon said. “He's betrothed to this lovely woman. But he's lonely. He thinks he's not good enough for her.”

“Which is quite wrong, of course,” Bran said quietly. “I can see all of space and time. Jon is amazing in every universe and every timeline.”

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Of course, Bran, it had to be _you_ who wanted Jon and Dany to marry as soon as possible.”

“Well, yes,” said Bran, sighing. “This is a peaceful Westeros. It got quite tiring to watch all these wars go on, and I wanted something a bit different.”

“Rather more fun to be annoying on a personal level, wouldn't you say?” Ghost grinned.

“So that's settled, then,” Drogon said. “Operation Annoy Daenerys is on.”

*

Daenerys was _itchy._

Sansa beamed. Pure joy radiated from the blue sky of her eyes. “Do you like it?”

“Well,” Dany ventured, “it is certainly,” she shifted uncomfortably, “an interesting new style.”

“I'm so glad I got it made in time! When Bran suggested we use old grain sacks to make your dress, I couldn't help but love the idea.” Sansa's smile was as bright as a summer sunrise. “It's good practice to learn how to make do with little, especially when winter comes. The gown will wear for ages, and maybe you'll be able to pass it on to your daughters!”

 _Perhaps Drogon would like to practice his fire-breathing skills_. _I hear sacks burn quite well._

“Here,” Margaery said, smiling. “I thought you'd like a necklace that was just as pretty as your dress. I had this made for you.” She looped the jewellery around Dany's neck.

In the mirror was the greatest monstrosity Dany had ever looked upon.

A thick silver chain with misshapen links as long as each of her fingers met at the pendant draping itself across her collarbone. The sigil of her house. At least, it was _meant_ to be the sigil of her house. She resisted the urge to squint.

A three-headed lizard attempted to stare menacingly up at her.

(It is, shall we say, _difficult_ to stare menacingly when your eyes have been modeled after a googly-eyed fish at a mummer's show, and your scales have been arranged in the manner of a three-year old child attempting to eat red pudding.

And failing.

In the extreme.)

“Margaery!” Dany took Margaery's hand, though her own shook. “This is beautiful. I've never seen something so unique in all my life. I shall wear it with pride.”

*

A drunken Viserys wove his way through the crowd to sit beside Dany with an unceremonious crash. “Dany! I'm here for the feast!”

“I can see that,” Dany said. “But what is that thing on your head?”

“I couldn't resist,” he said, between hiccups. “Travelling with the Dothraki was a truly life-changing experience. I had them make me something so I can remember it always.” A garish golden circlet vaguely resembling a crown rested precariously on his head. With every hiccup, one half became more tangled in his mess of platinum hair, while the other drooped across his forehead. Viserys didn't seem to mind.

“Is that more wine?” With those final words, her brother slapped her heartily on the shoulder and bolted from his chair, a wild grin plastering itself on his face.

 _At least someone's having fun_.

Davos was at least quieter when he sat down beside her. “My lady,” he greeted her with a smile. “Might I interest you in a fine morsel of my own creation?” He held out a plate to her.

_No, please. By all the Seven, no._

“Ser Davos! Of course! How thoughtful of you to bring such delicious gourmet fare to celebrate such an occasion!” She stopped her smile from turning into a grimace as she fished one of the delicacies out of the pile on Ser Davos' plate.

A single slice of limp raw onion dangled like a torn pirate's banner from Dany's fingers.

“It's all in how you cut them. Did it all myself.” Davos beamed with pride. “I even had Gendry forge me a special knife. I didn't know whether to slice them in rings or dice them, to be perfectly honest. Rings are more aesthetically pleasing, but dicing really brings out the unique flavour of each onion.”

_The Old Gods of the Forest?_

“Truly, Ser Davos, you have mastered this challenging art,” Dany said, before popping the onion into her mouth. This was not such a horrific gustatory experience. But as she chewed and swallowed, the acrid flavour coating her tongue and filling her sinuses, she reconsidered.

“And here he is, right on time for the finishing touch!” Davos proclaimed, as Stannis sat down at her other side. He was carrying a pitcher. Nothing good, she imagined. But it had to be better than raw onion.

“Thank you,” Dany said politely, reaching to fill her glass.

“Wait!” Stannis hoisted a thick tome up on the table, and it fell open with a thump. “I'll need to you to read this first. Then complete and sign the forms at the end. I require a list of any recent mental or physical complaints, as well as a detailed history of your House, including your family tree. Please pay close attention to section G, subsection 653, which will require your initials. It details the impact of the relationship with animal companions born via magical means on your consumption of this substance.”

_The Drowned God?_

Dany had filled her glass by this point, and slugged it down. Anything to wash away the taste of that onion. The liquid coated her throat with its deliciousness. At last, something pure and good in the mess of this night. But wait. It tasted familiar.

It didn't taste like much of anything at all.

“This is water.”

Stannis ground his teeth. “Yes. It is water. Water specially enchanted by a red priestess for this occasion.”

“The waiver gives it flavour!” Davos chimed in.

_R'hllor?_

Dany dropped her head to the table with a clunk.

_No gods can save me now._

“I think that's quite enough, wouldn't you agree?” A soft and familiar voice spoke at her side, and a warm hand rested on her shoulder.

“Jon! Where have you been? I haven't seen you all night.”

He smiled sadly. “They made me hide and watch you go through all this mess. Apparently, I've been brooding too much. About you.”

Dany laughed. “They do realise that's your natural state, don't they?”

“They thought I doubted your feelings for me,” Jon said, taking Dany's hands in his.

Dany rolled her eyes. “They can see all of space and time, but they couldn't be bothered to ask us.”

“Well, at least we know what you want for your wedding,” Jon said.

“Something in silk, perhaps. And no raw onions.”

“No raw onions. I'd kiss you now, but you should clean your teeth first.” Jon chuckled. “Get rid of that horrid dress before we dance. Burn it. I know Sansa wanted to.”

Daenerys gave Drogon the word in a frenzy of delight.

 


End file.
